Makarov wasn’t the endgame. He wasn’t the mastermind. He was just another piece in the larger puzzle.

"It’s not over... you’ve only been playing into their hands," He had muttered, his breath labored, a smirk playing on his lips as he was hauled away by Ghost and the others. His words lingered in the air like poison, sending shivers down the spines of the soldiers who had thought this mission would finally bring resolution.

It was supposed to be the end of a nightmare, but it was only the beginning of something much darker.

Back at base, something seemed off, a strange emptiness that no one could quite place, an unsettling feeling that clung to the room. They all turned to the screens, expecting to catch a glimpse of Makarov’s transfer or perhaps a glimpse of their next steps. But instead, it was something else entirely that caught their attention.

A security camera feed flickered to life.

It showed a hallway—sterile, white, the kind of corporate space where mundane operations were carried out in secret. And there you were. A face they all thought they had put behind them. The sweet, innocent secretary who had been there, behind the scenes, serving as the perfect cover. A soft smile on your lips as you glanced toward the camera. You’d been in the midst of it all, silently pulling the strings, a ghost in the machine.

You turned, as if you’d known all along that someone would be watching. There was no hint of fear, no sign of regret. Only amusement—mocking amusement—as you gave them a sly wink. And then, with an exaggerated grace, you blew them a kiss.

Ghost stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Soap’s expression shifted from frustration to confusion. Price’s face hardened, the weight of the loss settling in. They had almost had you, almost caught the serpent's head. But in the end, they were left with nothing but a taunting smile and a mocking gesture.